


you matter to me (i promise you do)

by smallzita



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Awkward Flirting, Fluff, Gertrude Is Jon's Grandma, Jurgen Is Angey, M/M, Martin and Jon Are Awkward, Mentioned Gertrude Robinson, Tim and Sasha Try To Help, bookshop owner jon, trying to flirt through literature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26167894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallzita/pseuds/smallzita
Summary: Martin has a crush on one of the regulars that comes to The Magnus Java, the cafe he works in, will he ever be able to talk to him? If his co-workers have a say in it than yes!
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 34
Kudos: 217





	you matter to me (i promise you do)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ohboyuhhh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohboyuhhh/gifts).



> Okay so this was a bit of a surprise for @charliepaigeb and it was inspired by their own coffee shop AU! There's not much out on the AU yet but trust me, it's amazing and this does not do it justice. It also features @chalroe s incredible artwork! Please give both of these amazing creatores your love.
> 
> Alternative title "writing a fic that resolves mainly around book reading when you haven't read a book in a year is a bad decision but damnit im making it"

Martin Blackwood was not an adventurous person, per say.

He lived in the same flat he had lived since he was a teenager. He watched dumb rom-coms at the end of every afternoon, and he didn’t own any pets-except for five succulents-because he had no intention of fighting with his landlord over the contract his mother signed a billion years ago. On weekends he took two buses and one train to visit his mum in a care facility five towns away where she’d either tell a very sweet young nurse to tell him that she was under the weather and not accepting visitors at the time, or they’d sit in her room in a very uncomfortable silent as the she watched her soaps on the telly. In the event of him feeling particularly restless and daring he’d go down to the local poetry-to watch, not participate-as others poured their hearts out under the dim light of the local library’s basement.

His job was also pretty ordinary, he worked behind the counter at The Magnus Java, a local cafe hidden amongst a thousand other hole in the wall shops on the streets of East London. It was a lovely place, a tad too pricey for his taste at times, but his coworkers were lovely, the customers were usually polite, and it paid the bills. Sure, it could be called dull by some but he rather liked it, what else could he want?

Jonathan Sims, that’s what he wanted.

Okay, maybe there was a better way to phrase that.

Jonathan Sims was a regular at the cafe, he’d show up around 12:40pm most days and order a simple English Breakfast tea and sometimes a wrapped up turkey sandwich. Most of the time he took his order to go and left in a hurry, but sometimes he’d sit by one of the windows and read as he ate, completely engrossed in whatever book he chose that week; Martin always tended to get a bit more clumsy on those days, often sneaking glances to where Jon sat, basked in the early afternoon glow, completely shut off from the outside world.

Martin was not in love; the only reason that he knew Jon’s full name was because, when he had asked for a name the first time they met Jon had extended his hand, and introduced himself as “Jonathan Sims, and you are?” then proceeded to very quickly become a few shades darker as Martin carefully explained that he had asked for it to label his drink. He just had a crush, a small, insignificant crush on a very attractive, awkward man, that supplied him with a lot of “what if”s to ponder about to pass the time and left him with no real intention to ever act out on it. 

His lovely coworkers, however, kindly disagreed

“Would it kill you to talk to the man?” Tim asked him, during a very slow day that had Martin staring at the clock and counting the seconds to Jon’s arrival. It had been a long day filled with full tubes, rain water soaking through his socks and extremely rude customers, so he found himself looking forward to his five minutes of daily serotonin.

“It  _ might _ ” Martin hissed back, gently elbowing his friend in the rib. Behind him he heard Sasha snort a laugh and he let out a pitiful whine. “I’m serious! There’s a good ninety percent chance that I’ll combust the second that man says hi to me.”

“Ninety?! That’s quite high isn’t it?” Sasha laughed once more. Martin let his hands fall in his hands with a dejected groan, there was some more giggling behind him and a gentle bell ring. “Well, I think it’s time Tim and I get some fire extinguishers from the back, then.”

Martin looked up so fast that his head spun, standing near the doorway was Jon, his hair was wet, as was his overcoat that left a small trail of rainwater behind him as he walked, his eyes had deep bags under them and yet, when they meet Martin’s, he still shot him a small, shy smile. 

God, how was Martin meant to survive that?

“Afternoon.” The man said with a small wave as he made his way over. He briefly scanned through the menu even tho Martin knew he already knew what he was going to order.

“Good afternoon, welcome to Magnus Java.” Martin said, his customer service voice slipping through as he spoke. “Would you like your usual?”

“Oh, uh, yes.” Jon answered, before digging into his pocket for money. He ended up fishing out a very soggy ten pounder which he apologetic handed off to Martin. “And a turkey sandwich please.”

“English Breakfast and turkey, got it.” Said Martin, gingerly putting the gross note on the register before handing Jon his change, which the man dropped in the tip jar as he always did before moving on to grab the sandwich from the display window. Behind him, Martin heard Tim wordlessly put the electric kettle on. “I’ll call you when it’s done.”

“Right, thank you.” Jon said before scooting a bit to the side to get out of the way of the nonexistent queue. He didn’t seem interested in sitting down today-which was somewhat of a shame-but instead seemed content to just wait by the counter until his drink was done.

Martin tried very hard not to stare, but the cafe was half empty with no new clients in sight and he really had nothing better to do; still he tried his best to be subtle and divide his attention between the man and literally anything else going on around him. It wasn’t much later when the man pulled out a miraculously dry book from inside his undercoat and started to flip through the pages with one hand, while the other absently unwrapped his sandwich.

That book was new, Martin thought to himself, frowning a bit, had he finished his other one already?

“What?” Jon asked, looking up at him with confusion in his eyes.

Ah, so maybe not so much to himself. Great.

“I-uh-Well, I just-” Martin stammered out, feeling his face heat up. He could practically feel Tim and Sasha’s eyes boring into the back of his head. “You were reading a pretty big book yesterday? And now you’re already reading another one? I-Look, it just usually takes you more than a day.”

“You...You know my reading patterns?” Jon asked, closing the book and bringing it close to his chest. Martin wished he could turn into fog and disappear into thin air.

“I-No? I mean, y-yes? Kinda? But not in a-”   


“He also knows all about the latest hot gossip from the PTA group that meets here once a month. Oh! And about the love life of the sweet old lady that comes here everyday to knit sweaters for her cats.” Tim supplied behind him, and Martin could practically hear the smile on his tone. He wasn’t sure if he was meant to be thankful or mortified. “Our job is very boring sometimes, mate.”

“I-” Jon said, lamely and Martin had never wanted to quit more than at that very second. “R-Right.”

“English breakfast for Jon!” Sasha called, with just a small edge of exasperation in her voice. She brought the styrofoam cup over with a smile. “Have a good day!”

Jon opened and closed his mouth a few times as if trying to figure out what to say until promptly giving up and putting his book away again before grabbing his tea. He shot the three of them a small, unsure smile which Martin mirrored before quickly making his exit out of the store and into the heavy rain.

For a few moments the cafe was filled with nothing but the sound of rain and some cheesy pop music that played through the speakers.

“So, you were right.” Tim piped up after a bit, he sounded like he was somewhere between apologetic, awkward and somewhat amused. “Talking to him  _ could  _ kill you.”

Martin let out a long sigh and dropped his head in his hands. Today was going to be a long day.

* * *

So, maybe Martin decided to take his lunch break at 12:35 the next day. That was fine, it was his business and there were definitely no ulterior motives for it other than trying to avoid the midday rush.

And yet he couldn’t help but feel his stomach twist when Tim told him Jon hadn’t visited at his usual time that day.

“Ugh,” He whined, putting his apron on as he walked through the employees break room. “I just lost one of our best tipping regulars, haven’t I?”

Tim didn’t answer, he just clapped his hands on Martin’s shoulders and allowed the man to wallow in self pity before guiding him back to the counter. Which, of course, was exactly when Jon walked in.

“Uh, hey Sasha can you switch-” Martin started.

“No, but I _can_ get started on an English Breakfast.” Sasha rebutted, giving him a stern look. “You have to fight your own battles, Blackwood.”

“Right, because that worked so well las-Hi, welcome to Magnus Java.” Martin said, quickly cutting himself off as soon as Jon was in earshot. Somewhere behind him Tim snorted as Sasha put the kettle on. “What can I do for you?”

“Just, uh, just English Breakfast tea, thank you.” Jon said, his eyes looking at anywhere but Martin who tried to ignore the horrible way that made him feel. The man handed him a fiver before he even had the chance to ring him up. “I...I also wanted to apologize for yesterday.”

Martin looked up in surprise, an apology was not even near the ballpark of what he expected to her today and yet here Jonathan Simms was, dressed in all his messy Dark Academia glory, looking...sheepish? Martin was the one to put his foot in his mouth so why the hell was Jon the one who was sorry?

“I shouldn’t-I’m not used to people being interested in me. Or my reading patterns, for that matter.” Jon told him, apologetically. He sounded overly posh, like he was speaking to some world renowned businessman and not the man who made his tea every day; for some reason it made the butterflies in Martin’s stomach go wild. “It...shocked me, but that was no reason to be so...defensive and I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for!” Martin said, vaguely aware that Jon’s tea was probably done by now but fully willing to burn the cafe down if his coworkers tried to interrupt them. “I-I overstepped-”

“No you didn’t, it was-” Jon stopped himself as the bell above the cafe door rang and another customer walked in, the man visibly cringed and moved a step to the side looking embarrassed. Martin’s entire soul crumbled in itself. “I-Sorry, I’m just gonna wait for my tea over there and-uh-right, yes.”

“I-uh-”

“Hey Marto, I think it’s my time to work the register.” Tim called behind him, and when Martin turned around he gave him the most obvious ‘follow your dreams, idiot’ look Martin had ever seen in someone that wasn’t a cartoon. “Can you deliver drinks? I think English Breakfast for Jon is done.”

“Right!” Martin said thankfully, quickly stepping to the side so Tim and his smug smirk could take his place. He carefully took the styrofoam cup from Sasha’s hand, giving both her and Tim a grateful look before turning to the counter and giving Jon a small smile. “Tea for Jon?”

Jon let out a small laugh and took the cup. “Yeah, that’d be me.” His smile fell momentarily. “I-I mean tho, I’m really sorry for yesterday.”

“Jon, it’s honestly fine.” He replied earnestly. Jon gave him a soft smile.

“R-Right. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asked, and Martin gave him a nod and a small wave which the man imitated. 

When he turned to leave Martin felt a small pain in his own arm, he spun around only to be met with Sasha slapping his shoulder again and nodding towards Jon with an eyebrow raised; even Tim, who should be taking his latest customer’s orders, was looking at him expectantly. Martin sighed and turned back around to look at Jon.

“You never answered, by the way.” Martin said, closing his eyes tight as soon as the words left his mouth. “About the book?”

Jon turned around and gave him a confused look before letting out a small “oh” before rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “It-uh-It was a really bad book so I read it as fast as I could as opposed to,uh, savouring it.” He admits with a small chuckle. “Honestly, I don’t know what I was expecting really, Jurgen Leitner’s books are not exactly known for being literary masterpieces; it might even be a stretch to call his work literature, typing seems way more-” He stopped as he noticed Martin, as well as his coworkers, were staring at him with a mix of awe and terror. He panicked. “Oh G-God, you’re a fan, aren’t you? I am-”

“N-No, that’s not, uh, that’s not the-”Martin started, but Sasha brushed past him before he could finish his sentence, carrying a large cup in her hands.

“Black coffee for Jurgen.” She called, and Martin watched as confusion, horror and panic-in that order- quickly flashed through Jon’s eyes. The client that had walked in after him quickly snatched the cup before giving both men a dirty look and walking away while grumbling to himself.

“W-Well, it’s true!” Jon called after him, getting another nasty look his way. Tim barely concealed his laughter with a fake cough. “R-Right, well...I’m sorry about that.”   


“Oh, it’s fine?” Martin offers, barely hiding his own smile. He dropped his volume to sound conspiratory. “He’s a really bad tipper anyway.”

“Right.” Jon snorted and something akin to pride bloomed inside Martin’s chest at making him laugh. “Still, I should probably go now? I-well,uh, goodbye Martin.”

“Bye Jon.” Martin smiled, watching as the man gave him a small wave before making his way out of the cafe. There was a beat of silence, then two.

“Byeeee Jon.” Tim singsonged behind him. Martin rolled his eyes.

“Yes, yes, alright. Let’s just get back to work.” He said, looking at his friends fondly. He decided that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he let the butterflies in his stomach stay there for a little while longer. 

* * *

“Hi, Jon. Same as always?”

“Oh, yes please.”

“Alrighty. Oh, might want to be careful today, Mary Shelly is sitting by the windows and I hear she does not take criticism well.”

“Har Har, very funny. However you should know that comparing the mother of gothic literature and sci-fi as we know it to a Norwegean man whose best selling book was basically ‘How to Traumatize Kids With Ten Pages Or Less’ should be an act punishable by law.”

“Wow, you’re really passionate about your books, aren’t you?”

“Oh, hm, yes I guess. I-I’m sorry, I know it’s not exactly riveting stuff.”

“What? No, no, I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. So...Is the book you’re reading now better than a Leitner?”

“Martin, a second year’s essay is better than a Leitner...but yes, actually. It’s very interesting, a read on human behaviour and-”

* * *

“-and so  Gerard L. Hasenhuettl is able to write in a way that makes his topic interesting and, quite honestly, enrapturing. It is a lot of...text to get through but I can’t help but find myself really interested in-Martin? Why are your coworkers staring?”   


“Oh, hm, what? O-Oh! Right, uh, they are probably just bored. What were you saying?”

“Okay, so how emulsifiers work is that they...they...I’m sorry, are you sure? They just look a bit...too happy?”

“Really? To me they just look like nosey arses."

"Hm…"

"Jon, just ignore them. I think they are just glad I'm talking to someone who isn't the two of them for a change."

“O-Oh, I see...you know, the interesting thing about emulsifiers is-”

* * *

“-again, I have no idea how this book even got to me since the first of the three is mostly on ebook form, but it does have a very captivating narrative; specially since it revolves around Neil and his found family, which I think really is just a really well put together metaphor for-”

“Jon, this is really interesting but we are pretty full today, you can’t stay in line.”

“Wh-Oh God, I-How long have I been talking?”

“A little while?”   


“R-Right, sorry. I’ll just grab my tea and go.”

“Wait! Uh, I mean you could, hm, text me more about it?”

“I don’t have your number?”

“I mean, I can give it to you? If-if you want, that is.”

“O-Oh! I-I do.”

“...c-cool.”

“Martin? The number?”

“R-Right! It’s 020-”

* * *

“Hey Jon, English Breakfast?”

“Yes, please but I was, uh, I was wondering if you were a-a fan of Patricia Highsmith?”

“I-I’m sorry, I don't know who that is?”

“S-She was an american writer. She wrote ‘The Talented Mr. Ripley’?”

“I’ve only seen the movie when I was a teenager, sorry.”

“O-Oh, it’s fine, Martin...What-uh-what about  Edmund White? He wrote ‘A Boy’s Own Stories’ in 1982.”

“Hm, no? Can’t say I do, Jon.”

“It’s good! Really uh, it’s really...What about Oscar Wilde?”

“Oh? _Oh_! Yeah! Oscar Wilde is great! I particularly like Dorian Gray…”   


“Yes! His themes on men’s vanity and strive for perfection is beautifully constructed.”

“O-Oh?”

“I-I also like his approach to issues of sexuality!”

“Oh! M-Me too.”   


“That’s uh, that’s great. Maybe we could talk about it sometime…”

“I’d love that.”

* * *

“How come I’ve never seen you with a poetry book?”

“Excuse me?”

“Jon, I’ve seen you with fiction, non-fiction, plays, comics, hell, even textbooks, but never any poetry books. Why?”

“Oh I’m just not a fan I guess? I mean I just don’t really get the point of it, to be honest, why mask what you’re saying with flower-y pretty? Why not just...go ahead and say what you want to say?”

“Oh my goodness.”

“What?!”   


“That’s the worst take on poetry I’ve ever heard! You sound like a twelve year old boy.”

“Well, I’m sorry my reading isn’t up to your standards.”

“You absolutely should be.”

“Pfft, but in my defence I did have a hard enough time in secondary school and sixth form _without_ being the kid that read poems during recess.”

“So instead you read plays during recess and formed a steampunk band?”

“Okay, it was in uni and I regret telling you that.”

“Hah, fair enough. Okay, how about this: if I found you a good poetry book, would you at least try to read it?”   


“Hmph, if you insist.”

“You don’t-well, you dont *actually* have to read it if you don’t want to. I just...I like poetry but I don’t want to force you to-”

“Martin, I want to. You’ve never suggested a book to me before so honestly I’m excited to read...even if it is garbage poetry.”   


“Wh-Okay! First of all-”

* * *

The bell ringed softly above the door as Martin walked inside the cramped secondhand bookstore, he must have passed by this place a million times on his way to work every morning but it wasn’t until he had googled “book shops near me” that The Archives stood out. Still, it was a decent place; the entrance was by a dark green wooden door with a hand painted “Open” sign hanging from it, there were shelves and more shelves stretching from the floor to the ceiling, as well as a few tables with what seemed to be apple crates on top of them, they had “SALES” written across them and were filled to the brim with books, old and new, besides that there were a few old yet comfortable looking chairs scattered about.

Was it a bit claustrophobic? Yes.

Was it homely? It...could be!

But Martin wasn’t there to judge their interior design choices, he just wanted a book and he knew that a hand me downs were cheaper than what you’d find in a big brand bookstore, even if the book he had in mind could be a bit hard to find. He wished he could just use his own copy, but he couldn’t seem to find it; if that was because it was misplaced during his move to London, sold along with a backpack filled with other personal belongings in a desperate attempt to earn extra money during his youth, or simply thrown out by his mother for a reason or another he wasn’t entirely sure, but it was gone and this was his best and cheapest shot at finding a new copy.

He dragged his fingers across the spine of random books as he found his way to the counter, smiling to himself a bit at the different textures he came in contact with them. The man froze as he got to the register tho, as he found that the wall behind it was filled with eye drawings in different shapes, sizes and colors all staring him down and watching his every move. He instinctively pulled his heavy jacket tighter around himself as if to protect himself from the dozens of fake gazes, considering if weird art displays warranted enough reason for him to leave a store and look elsewhere but before he could decide someone called for him.

“Martin?” Came a pleasantly familiar voice from behind him, the man turned around to see Jon standing there, his long hair pulled into a loose bun with a few strands gently falling over his face, he was wearing a brown vest over a green shirt with the sleeves rolled up and in his arms rested a considerable pile of books. He smiled at Martin in a way that made his heart skip a beat. “What are you doing here?”

“I-I was looking for a book?” Martin offers, flustered. He chuckles and nods at the pile nestled in Jon’s arms. “I see you’ve found this week’s reading list.”

Jon snorts and moves past Martin to settle the books down on the counter. “Actually I’m just organizing these.” He explains, before turning around to face Martin, a small shy smile plastered on his face. “I’m the owner.”

“Wait, really?” Martin asked, surprised. Jon had never mentioned his job before and the man had just assumed he was some kind of book critic or a stuck up professor, but now as he looked around the room things started to fall into place. The books he was always carrying with him, the way he dressed and behaved himself, the eyes on the wall. “Actually, that makes sense.” He hummed, before looking around the room again and realizing the things that didn’t add up. The mess, the decor, _the eyes on the wall._ “Wait, no, no it doesn’t? I-I mean it kinda does but-but not really?”

“If it helps, my grandmother owned it until a few months back.” Jon says, looking amused at Martin’s reaction which made him blush. “It’s a family thing, of sorts, it was my mum’s before she died, then my grandmother’s. And that woman...Gertrude was a good person, she did her best to raise me, but-” Jon clicked his tongue. “She also decided to organize the books by publication date, if she decided to organize at all.”

“Jeez.” Martin commented, looking around curiously. His eyes were drawn to the wall behind the counter once more. “And, uh, the mural? Was that you or Gertrude?”

“The what?” Jon asked, before he followed Martin’s gaze and frowned. “Oh, hm. I’ve never noticed that before.”

“You are joking.” Martin deadpanned, incredulous. But Jon shook his head.

“No really, I swear.” He promised, eyebrows furrow. How in the hell was Martin in love with this man? “I mean...it was probably Gertrude’s doing? She could be very, hm, odd at times.”

“Oh, so it’s genetic, then?” Martin asked, earning himself an eye roll from Jon.

“I’m just-I’m not the most observant type.” He said simply, followed by a shrug. He turned his attention back to Martin instead of the wall. “So, can I help you find something specific?”

Martin opened and closed his mouth, briefly considering pointing out the irony on Jon’s statement before thinking better of it and deciding to just drop it. For a moment he debated telling Jon he could look for the book alone, but one look around the shelves was enough to disencourage him, even if it would ruin the surprise Martin had planned. 

“Uh, yes actually.” Martin nodded. “I was wondering if you have The Alchemist? By Paulo Coelho?”

“Oh, actually we might!” Jon told him, excitement seeping through his voice in a way that was kind of adorable. “Yes, I think I saw it this morning while trying to start on the sci-fi section. I’ll be right back!”

And with that the man was off, moving to a hidden corner of the shop while mumbling something or another to himself. Martin chuckled as he watched him go, his cheeks reddening ever so slightly as he saw just how cheerful Jon seemed to be in his natural habitat.

He decided to explore a bit more as he waited, picking up random books and mindlessly flipping through the pages to see if he found anything interesting. In the end, what caught his eye wasn’t actually a book, but a small wooden countertop display box that rested on the counter, the sides were carved with spiral patterns and taped on the top part was a small piece of paper with “£0.50 ” written on it, inside it was a collection of odd items; pressed flowers, letters, old photographs, postcards, leaves against laminated paper and an assortment of old pieces of paper covered in doodles, or writing, or both. Martin picked one of the letters up and carefully examined it, he couldn’t understand much due to the heavy cursive but it seemed to date to the 21st of March of 1816 and be from someone with a very german name.

“Alright, I did find it but its a bit beat up so I will give you a good deal on it and-” He heard Jon say behind him before the man froze. Martin turned to him and showed him the letter with an eyebrow raised which made the man break into a smile. “I knew you’d like that.”

“What is it, exactly?” Martin asked, gently placing the letter back in its original place as Jon made his way to the other side of the counter and put the book down.

“This is a collection of all the forgotten book markers me and mum collected over the years.” Jon explained, and Martin could have swore he heard a hint of pride in his voice. “Well, n-not _all_ of them. I do try to return them when I can but most of the time there’s no name or address and, well...I can’t exactly throw it away.” 

Martin looked down at the box with newfound wonder, his fingers gently carting through the bundle of treasures in front of him. How many lives had these simple pieces of paper witnessed? How many stories did they hold?

“Is...Is that where the name comes from?” Martin asked, a bit anxious about sounding like an idiot. “The Archives? Because you keep all of this?”   


Jon’s face broke into an even bigger smile and all of Martin’s worries suddenly melted away. “I-yes, actually. Well, that and the old books thing. And speaking of-” He said, placing his book before the other man. It was indeed an old and beat up copy of The Alchemist, but it also looked exactly like Martin’s old one which put a small smile on his face. “I know it’s not the prettiest, and I could look for a different copy but that might take a while. Besides, this one has-”

“Personality.” Martin completed fondly. “How much for it?” 

“Well, usually this one would be a fiver but I mean…” He drummed his fingers against the cover which was stained at the corners in a sickly yellow. “You know what? You can just-just take it, consider it a gift.”

“What? No! No way, I can’t accept that.” Martin told him, shaking his head. If there was one thing he inherited from his mother was his stubbornness, especially when it came to people giving him gifts or being nice to him in any way. “Besides...well, this was kinda meant to be a gift for you.”

Jon’s eyes became so comically large that Martin couldn’t help but chuckle at him, he picked up the book carefully as if he was seeing it in a different light. “...Why?” Jon asked, as if the mere thought of being given a gift was foreign to him.

“I told you I’d tell you when I found a good book.” Martin explained with a shrug, despite the fact that he could feel his face go bright pink as he spoke. “And while it’s not a _poetry_ book, The Alchemist is quite poetic and one of the main reasons I started writing poems. I wanted to lend you my old copy but I couldn’t find it so…”

“So you wanted to buy me a book?” Jon asked, completely flabbergasted. There was something about the way he looked at Martin, maybe the softness and care in his eyes or the way they shined under the dim light, that made his body heat up from the tips of his ears to his chest. “Martin, I-I don’t even know what to-wait.” He stopped, putting a finger up as if he had just had some sort of epiphany, a small cheeky smile starting to spread across his face. “Did you just say you write poetry?”

“...No.” Martin lied, watching as Jon’s grin grew impossibly wide.

“Really? Because I could have sworn I heard you say-”   


“You heard wrong.”

“Oh, I must have.” Jon told him, glee seeping into his voice in a way that made blood rush straight to Martin’s cheek. “ There’s no way the man who gives me grief over my uni band writes poetry.”

“You dressed like a space pirate!” The other man cried, barely keeping the laughter out of his own voice. “And you wore steampunk goggles!”

“I wore steampunk everything.” Jon said, as if that made anything better.

“Exactly!” Martin crossed his arms with a hmph. He didn’t want Jon to make fun of him or belittle him, but of course he couldn’t outright say that. “So, you really have no ground to judge anyone’s artistic expressions!”

“I wasn’t going to, in fact if you did poetry-which you don’t, yes, I know-but if you _did,_ ” Jon said, which got a deep eyeroll out of the other man. Jon let out another chuckle. “I would say that it’s a nice hobby.”

“...Thanks.”.

“And that I’d want to read it.” He added.

“Absolutely not.” Martin told him firmly, shaking his head. “Jon, you don’t even like poetry.”

“True, but I like y-” Jon stopped himself before he could finish his sentence, but not before his face grew darker. He cleared his throat and looked away. “Right, well how about a compromise? I borrow the book for a bit and then after I’m all done I’ll give it to you. Everyone should have their favourite book with them.”

“Oh I don’t know if it’s my _favourite_ book.” Martin told him, scratching the back of his neck, awkwardly. “I mean, don’t get me wrong! It’s a _great_ book and I used to love it but- I don’t know-I haven’t been able to sit down and actually read a book in so long I don’t know if my taste has changed?”

“Well, if you ever want to try and get back to reading…” Jon offered, looking around. Martin chuckled. 

“Yeah, I need a book for my new bookmark.” Martin told him, carting his fingers through the contents of the small box before him. He watched as Jon’s eyes lit up. 

“Can I pick one for you?” Jon offered, suddenly. He seemed oddly excited about this, in the way Martin had only seen him be excited about books before. “You d-don’t have to agree of course! Or even take it, but I think I know what’d like.”

Martin hesitated for a moment, he liked Jon and he liked his style, but said style was more “eyes on the wall” and “death and sadness”, while Martin’s was more of a “rainbow, sunshine and tea” kind of guy. Still, Jon had said he knew what he’d like so…

Martin nodded and Jon quickly pulled the box towards himself and started rifling through it with intense concentration. It took a few seconds, but eventually Jon gave a triumph smile and pulled an old stained polaroid from the collection which he handed over to the other man. Martin took it in his hands and gasped.

It was a photograph of a house, no, a wooden cabin with a messy and colorful garden in front of it, the door was painted yellow but the paint was slowly starting to fade and peel away in a few places and there was a small cobble path that lead to it; above there were picture perfect blue skies with no clouds to be seen and all around the home rolling green hills seemed to go on forever. At the very bottom someone had written “Scottland” with blue marker along with a now very smudged and illegitiable date and a small heart.

“Jon, this is…” Martin started, but trailed off as he realized he had no idea how to put what he felt into words. Was he surprised that Jon thought about him at all? Moved over how much the man cared? Tearful for a memory that he didn’t even own? “I-I don’t know what to say.”

“Does that mean you like it?” Jon chuckled nervously, and that’s when it hit Martin that Jon was actually anxious about what his reaction to the picture would be. He gave him a soft yet sure smile.

“Of course I do.” He answered honestly, which earned him a small and relieved smile from Jon. “I don’t think fifty cents does this enough justice.”

“Oh, you don’t have to-”

“Yes, I do, don’t be daft.” Martin reprehended, pulling out a fifty pence out of his pocket and handing it to Jon in exchange for the picture, which he gingerly placed in his coat pocket.

For a few moments they just stood like that, both completely unaware of what to say or maybe how to say it. There was no one around to rush them, or to make fun of them, there were just the two of them and the books.

“I-I should probably get going?” Martin said after a bit, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I have to go to work really early.”

“R-Right!” Jon exclaimed, a hint of surprise in his voice as if he had completely forgotten that trivial things such as time and a world outside his bookshop existed. “I-uh-Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Oh, yes, I-I’ll definitely stop by after work.” Martin told him, before realization hit him. “Oh! Oh, you mean at the c-cafe, right. O-Of course.”

Jon snorted. “Trust me, I’m not opposed to you coming over again.” He tells the man, blushing. “Goodbye, Martin.”

“Bye, Jon.” Martin says, very red in the face. He turned around to leave, only to stop halfway and turn back towards the man, his brow furrowed. “Will you be keeping the eyes?” He asked, nodding towards the painted mural that spread through the wall. “Now that you know they exist, I mean.”

Jon seemed to consider his question for a moment, letting out a small hum as he thought. “I think I might.” He said, finally, his own eyes scanning the walls of the shop carefully. “I know they are a bit unsettling, but...I like them, I think it’s a nice fit for the shop.”

“I think you’re right.” Martin nodded, also looking at the odd paintings scattered about. They were indeed a bit odd and they could even be somewhat creepy, but they did make the small shop stand out, and, in a weird way, they seemed to fit Jon, but in a good way. Sure, the eyes were a bit out of place and often unusual, but that was exactly what made them as beautiful as they were. “Bye...Again.”

And with that he left, cheeks impossibly red as he made his escape without further ado, not waiting to see if Jon noticed just how flustered he had gotten all of a sudden.

The man quickly made his way down the streets of London, uncaring about the cold and the rain that was starting to fall, he walked into the tube, paying no mind to the crowds that surrounded him in all sides and made it hard to breath, when he got home the loneliness didn’t feel as oppressive as it once was and he didn’t mind the quiet as much as he once did. In the safety of his own home, Martin took the polaroid out of his pocket, feeling excitement and giddiness wash over him all over again as he ran his fingers carefully through the edges of the photo, admiring it like it was some type of treasure of immeasurable value and not something he had paid less than a pound for.

Still, Martin had all the care in the world as he placed the small bookmark on his bedside table, gingerly propping it up in front of an old photo frame with nothing but a black and white stock photo of an empty beach inside that he had kept out of guilt when his mum couldn't take it to her room in the care facility. He smiled at it, for the first time in maybe ever feeling some semblance of joy over his bleak little bedroom; and when he fell asleep that night he did so with a grin still plastered on his face and excitement brewing in the pit of his stomachs.

He could not wait for tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!
> 
> (Also, if you were confused about the authors Jon was asking Martin about maybe throw them on google and see what they all have in common ;) figure out what he was really trying to ask Marto)


End file.
